MULTIPLY: Wordsmiths Challenge #22: The Cat

Inside looking out, what a wonderful place to be
There was another time and place, was hungry but was free

Roaming the streets, my mother was gone
A cat on its own, no-one cared
I fought for my life against other beasts
For a garbage can where food was spared

Then there arrived a frosty night
The snow made me shake and feel bad
I found a warm place by a door of a house
I was weak and I felt very sad

A meow was the only thing I could say
But it seems that my weak voice was heard
I suddenly felt warm air near the door
I was wrapped in a blanket and stirred

“Oh mummy just look at this poor little cat
So thin and so very weak
It is snowing outside, it is shaking with cold
A warm place by the door it did seek

It is Christmas Eve and it is so alone
Please let us give it to eat
A warm place to sleep and a cuddle or two
And of course a bowl of fresh meat.”

So now you know why I sit on this ledge
With my rescuer still at my side
I am so thankful for the care I now have
And she loves me I know that with pride

So if you find a cat in the cold
Then open the door to your heart
A little girl took me into her arms
She calls me Christmas, that was a good start

MULTIPLY Wordsmiths Challenge #21: Helping Neighbours

At last Sarah Jones was retired and had time for all those things she wanted to do instead of her day being filled with things she had to do. She could rise in the morning when she wanted and cook her food at home, not having to take a quick lunch in the supermarket restaurant combining it with shopping. Her days were now filled with twenty-four hours of pleasure and not work. There was a small problem.

Sarah liked working, she liked having a target in front of her eyes and now there was none, so Sarah being how she was decided to explore and find what she could. She liked reading, so the first choice was to find a good book. When the book was finished she had to find another one, this was a trifle boring with time. She had the computer and decided to explore its possibilities. Surfing around on internet was also monotonous until she re-discovered one of those social sites where you could correspond with colleagues. There were enough colleagues and now Sarah had time to connect but there was still something missing - it became boring.

One day Sarah discovered a game on this social site. She suddenly had a farm, was connected with people she knew and started to build it up. This was not really the fulfilment of her needs, so she searched further and found something very interesting. An imaginary town existed on the computer, called Myville. She had a look and found a few colleagues were already there, fully equipped with houses, furniture and to a certain extent even a garden. To finance her life in Myville she could work in a factory, earn money, visit neighbours and it even had a casino. Myville had everything. Now Sarah was occupied and had a purpose. Of course, she realised it all existed in the virtual world, and not in the real one, but this did not bother her. Instead of sitting alone at home watching boring television programmes in the evening she could escape into her world of farms and towns.

One morning the postman brought Sara Jones a letter. She was not really expecting anything special, just the usual invoices for the electricity and perhaps for the income tax. Even this had to be paid if when retired, but Sarah had worked all her life and had enough money to live comfortably. She opened the letter and found it to be from a computer software company.

“Dear Miss Jones

It has come to our attention that you are one of the most successful participants in the Myville computer game. We have noticed the talent you have in making progress. It is for this reason we have decided you would be the ideal person to try our newest game “Neighbourville”. It takes place in the town of Neighbourville and the basic idea is to look after your neighbour, feed him, clothe him and in general take care. Money can be earned by fulfilling these chores and you will have the opportunity to gain rewards for your good work.

Enclosed is a sealed envelope containing the computer link and the code words needed. As this game is still in experimental stages we would ask you to keep these details private at the moment. You will be informed further when the game will be available for the general public .

We thank you for your co-operation and we are sure you will enjoy the game.

With kindest regards
The computer “X” company*

Sarah was both pleased and surprised to receive this letter and found that it would be a welcome change to the normal games she was playing. She had been chosen to play and she was flattered.

That evening she decided to see what the idea was and opened the sealed envelope showing the site www.myneighbour.edu. It was even a .edu site, and she was convinced it must be something intelligent. Her entry code was also supplied. It was quite long, a mixture of twenty letters and signs, but she had no problem. When she entered the game she was in a very comfortable room; a fire was burning and the furniture looked very welcoming.

“Welcome to my home” were words printed on the screen. Sarah searched to see where they were coming from and then suddenly one of the armchairs rotated and there was a nice gentleman sitting in the chair smoking a pipe. The words continued.

“Hello, I am George your neighbour. I am not able to leave my home as I cannot walk very well. Here is a list of items I need from the shops, please fetch them.”

Sarah searched for the way to get to the shops and found it written on a tab above the screen “Shops”. She clicked on the name and suddenly found herself in a greengrocer shop showing various vegetables. Her figure had already been supplied. She was surprised she could not create it herself. It just seemed strange that although she was complete as a woman, her face had no features. She decided this was probably because the game was still in the beginning stages. The list of items to fetch was still showing at the bottom of the screen so she clicked on the items and soon she had a basket put in her virtual arms containing everything. She then clicked on the tab showing neighbour and arrived back to George with the items she bought.

She then saw that George started to unpack everything and on the list the items were ticked off.

“The oranges don’t look very fresh” George said, the words appearing on the screen. “You will have to return them to the shop.”

Sarah decided, enough was enough, she wanted to play, she did not need another stressful job in her life and closed the programme, the problem being that it did not close, but George was still sitting there.

“I want my fresh oranges” George said and this time it was not words written on the screen but a voice coming through the loudspeaker.

Sarah was astonished to say the least, and then it repeated again at least three times, getting louder all the time. “I WANT MY FRESH ORANGES”. Sarah travelled back to the greengrocer shop on the screen and again asked for oranges.

“For George” the words came on the screen.

Sarah typed yes and then the words came “you should have told us that before. George has special oranges.”

Sarah then had oranges put into her basket, twice as big as the last time and returned to George. George clapped his hands and took the oranges. Sarah was about to switch off again, but she could not, try as she wanted to, the programme was fixed on her computer.

“I want my slippers” said George, again over the loudspeaker, and cook my dinner. You bought some meat and potatoes, go to the kitchen and click on the cooker.

Sarah did as George said and she found that the food started cooking. Again she wanted to leave.

“You cannot go yet” said George “you have to serve my dinner and wait until I have eaten it. Then you must wash up the dishes.”

Sarah decided she had enough of George and pulled the plug out of the wall, but the computer continued running.

“I am you neighbour, your job is to look after me and I will say when we are finished. I will go to bed in an hour and then you can switch off. I sleep until eight in the morning and expect you to be here again.”

Sarah decided that George was an annoying neighbour. Somehow she felt that she had to do what George was demanding, and an hour later when George went to his bedroom on the computer, Sara was tired and also went to bed.

The next morning at eight the computer switched itself on again and there was George.

“Where is my breakfast? Go to the kitchen, I want eggs and bacon.”

Sarah went to the kitchen on the computer and found only bacon.

“There are no eggs?” said George. This is not good, go to the shop and bring eggs. I will wait.”

“This is enough” thought Sarah and again wanted to close the programme. As she touched the key on the computer she felt a pain go through her hand.

“Ow” she said “what was that”.

“That was my punishment that you forgot the eggs and are refusing to bring them from the shop. I am an old man and need looking after. I am your neighbour and you have to do what I say.”

And so the days passed and Sarah found that George was in charge of her life. After a week she was surprised that George was not in his armchair on the computer when she switched on. She was actually glad. It was then that she saw words written at the bottom of the screen.

“You have now passed all 10 steps of this programme and have qualified. George no longer needs you. You have progressed to the next level.”

A few days later Kate Simmons received a letter in the post from a computer company introducing her to a new game called “Neighbourville”. Kate’s husband had died a month before and she was organising her life without him. It was difficult at the beginning, but with the help of a social site on the computer she found that the evenings were not so boring when she participated in the various games. Now she had received an introduction to take part in a new game. “This will be fun” she thought. She dialled the web site and entered the complicated code she had received in a sealed envelope.

She found herself in a very comfortable room; a fire was burning and the furniture looked very welcoming.

"Welcome to my home” were words printed on the screen. Kate searched to see where they were coming from and then suddenly one of the armchairs rotated and there was a nice lady sitting in the chair knitting.

If Kate had ever known Sarah Jones she would have been surprised as the nice lady looked exactly like Sara Jones, but Sarah Jones had disappeared. The police had been alarmed. Her neighbours had not seen her for some time. Her house was empty and there was no trace. If you looked back further, you would also have seen the headlines in the newspaper that an elderly man, George ……. had also disappeared in the same way a few months before. The similarity in the two disappearances was that the computers belonging both to Sarah and George were missing, never to be found, but the police and neighbours did not notice this.

MULTIPLY Wordsmiths Challenge #19: Thanksgiving

If you ask me this thanksgiving thing is a crime, something I could really do without. As I said to Mavis, the wife, a couple of weeks ago, it is time again for us to go on a diet.

“On a diet” she said with an annoyed voice. “You mean all that nice gobbly stuff the farmer is bringing us to eat, we have to leave alone. What about the children? They will starve.”

You know women just do not seem to understand the importance of the situation. I told her that we turkeys are an endangered species at this time of the year. Of course we get more food, we have to be fattened up for thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, what a word! Are we turkeys thankful for this feast, definitely not. I remember Uncle Fred last year, gobbling all the extra food and getting nice and fat. The last I saw of him was when the farmer’s wife carried him away under her arm. Just a few feathers floating in the air were all that was left as a memory. Sometimes there are even trucks arriving at the farm, and one after the other we birds of a feather are piled in, never to return.

Anyhow, as I say, a turkey should be very careful at this time of the year. Refuse to eat the extra rations. It is difficult, but then you are not one of the chosen few to arrive on a family table. I have heard those humans are even asked if they prefer white meat or dark. What an insult to be reduced to a discussion over my departed remains. Excuse me, but that takes it too far. Anyhow, this year I have managed to find a nice quiet corner in the barn. After making it clear to the wife what this thanksgiving is all about, she has seen the light and has decided follow my advice and stay away from the humans and their extra rations at the moment. We have managed to find enough straw to hide in until this time of the year has gone.

Some of the turkeys are laughing at us. Cousin James started making fun of me. “If you carry on like that, you will be only skin and bone, you are a disgrace to the turkey nation” he said. May cousin James now rest in peace, he stuffed himself so full with those extra rations, he was one of the first to go. I suppose at least he went fully fed. I now go for jogging exercises every morning to make sure that I do not put on one gram of extra fat. If I could fly I can tell you I would hop over the fence and find a nice forest to hide in until it is all over.

“Mavis, quick under the straw the farmer’s wife is coming and that truck has pulled up again at the farm gate. Take the kids with you, I am coming. Sometimes I wish I was a vulture.”

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MULTIPLY Wordsmiths Challenge #18: Death on a sunny Afternoon

Superintendent Jack Matthews hated crime scenes, especially when they were messy, and this was a messy one; unbelievable that a husband could stab his wife on a Sunday afternoon for no apparent reason and then shoot himself in the head.

“Jim, any clues as to what happened” he asked one of the medical staff.

“No idea Jack, probably just another marital conflict situation. It’s beyond my understanding. Seems that they were spending a quiet Sunday afternoon in the garden and then something must have lit the spark to start things off.”

Jack had a quick look around; nothing really suspicious, although it seemed strange. Outside in the garden there was a cup of coffee with a biscuit, not even touched, next to a camera poised on the narrow bricks of the garden wall. Jack had an idea and pulled on his thin white rubber gloves, before taking the camera in his hand. It was a digital camera, and perhaps there might be a photo or something to show what happened. He switched it on, but no photo, just a small video, one of those movie videos that you could take with a camera.

“Let’s see what we have here” he said and called his assistant. “Seems we have a small film taken this afternoon, probably the last of the deceased couple.”

Arthur his assistant came over. “That could be the solution to the murder” he said. The two men then watched the film. Although a small camera it was good quality and it even had sound.

First of all they saw the wife

“No, not now, I don’t want you film me” and she put her hands in front of her face.

“Come on” a voice could be heard, probably from the husband “you look so good in this light, and I really want something to remember you by.”

“Don’t be silly Frank” the wife said “I am leaving and that is all there is to say. You do not need anything to remember me by. You should have thought of that some time ago. Now it is too late.”

The film then became quite slurred as if someone was moving the camera around. Then the man’s voice could be heard again.

“I told you I am not sharing you with anyone and if I cannot have you then no-one else will.” It seemed that the camera was getting nearer and a full close up of the wife's face was on the picture.

“No, Frank, what are you doing. Put that knife down.”

It was then that the film came to an end.

“Looks like a closed case sir” said Arthur. “We even have it on film.

“Certainly does Arthur” said the superintendent.

If they had seen more, they would have known that the wife, although bleeding quite heavily from her injuries, managed to stumble into the living room and take a gun out of the cabinet. She pointed it at her husband.

“Now it is your turn Frank”

Frank was quite shocked, not expecting that his wife, Christine, would recover from her injury, and struggled for the gun. He wrestled it away from his wife and made a decision.

In the meanwhile his wife fell, and Frank saw she was dead. He loved her so much. He saw the cup of coffee and chocolate biscuit outside on the garden wall, through the open garden window. He walked over to the cup and looked at it one last time, heart shaped with the words “I love you” on it thinking those were the best days of our life together. He put the camera on the wall next to the cup and walked back to the living room.

“I love you too” he said “more than you will ever know. If I cannot have you, neither will he” and he shot himself in the head. He no longer wanted to live.

Superintendent Jack Mathews decided that this was a clear case in agreement with his assistant. It would disappear in the records as any other marital drama. When he got home that evening, he opened his desk and removed the two flight tickets to Hawaii, tore them up and threw them away. He was sad, he quite liked Christine, Frank’s wife, and was sure they would have had a future together, but she became just another death statistic in marital warfare.

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MULTIPLY United Friends Challenge #199: A rainy Disaster

Sumax's Challenge

You wake up from a nightmare.
You have had a vision of a disaster that you know will happen that very day.
You know you have to inform the relevant authorities, but will they believe you?
Using 1,000 words or more, in both narrative and dialogue, describe the scene as you try to convince the powers-that-be of what is going to happen.

The day dawned and I could hear the birds singing outside the bedroom window, but that did not help. After the night I had behind me, nothing more could help.

“That was weird” was the first thought that passed through my head. “It is as if nothing has happened, but it could” and the dream did not leave me any rest throughout the morning. This was not a dream I was sure. “This will become reality, but who is going to believe me?”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained”, was my first thought. “They will either ignore me or laugh, but no-one is going to believe me; I am sure” and so I checked on the computer for the telephone number. It was a big organisation and I knew this was not going to be easy.

I heard the telephone ringing on the other side and a voice said “European Organisation for Nuclear Research, Geneva; can I help you?”

“Er, yes, well, can you give me the department for this atom splitting machine that you have built.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand. You mean the Hadron Collider? This is not just a department, but an organisation, and the gentlemen are busy at the moment organising the final tests.”

“That is why I am calling, to put a stop to these final tests. They are dangerous beyond imagination.”

“I am sorry madam, I do not quite understand. Are you an expert for technical research on this level?”

It was then that I had to think quickly and tell a few untruths. No problem, they could not see me when I start going red through shame, but this was really a matter of life and death, well almost.”

“Listen I am Dr. Jeanette Renault, and was one of the designers of this system, but a mistake has been made. You must not, repeat, must not switch the collider on. Please give me the chief of the department.”

“Just a moment please doctor, I will see what I can do.”

“Hello, hello”

“Public relations, Hadron collider here. Can I help you.?”

“No, I am trying to help you. Do not switch this machine on.”

“Who is speaking?”

“Professor Dr. Jeanette Renault, I helped to develop this machine. Please switch it off.”

“Just a moment, are you asking me to switch a billion franc machine off, just at your request. What is the reason? Another one of these suspicions that the town of Geneva will fall into a black hole, or perhaps the world? I don’t remember you name from our staff.”

Now this is where the problems are going to start. How do I say it was because of a dream? They are never going to believe it. It was then that I saw the daily newspaper. Admittedly I had already spilt some strawberry jam on it in my excitement, but I could still see the picture of a man laughing happily standing in front of this machine, telling the world of its advantages.

“Please connect me with director Peter Schmitt.”

“Mr. Schmitt is busy.”

“You must tell him to come to the phone. I was witness to a car accident this morning involving his son. I took his son to the hospital.”

“Oh, I see, in that case, just a moment please.”

Well let’s hope that Mr. Schmitt will now have time for me.

“Schmitt, my son is injured? What has happened?”

“Mr. Schmitt, everything is ok. I just have to talk to you about something important to do with the experiment you are starting today.”

“Oh no, not another one of those end of the world people. My time is too precious to talk about black holes, death and destruction. Or do you have another idea?”

“Well, yes I do actually. No, no, please do not hang up. This is important. I had a dream last night and it was so realistic. Please listen.”

“Young lady, my scientific work is not built on dreams, it is reality. There will be no black holes and no-one will disappear; goodbye.”

“No, no, please wait. No black holes, but a hole that will let something in.”

“Will let something in? Now I must say that is a new angle. Perhaps we will have some little green men arriving climbing out of the collider. How stupid do you think we are?”

“No, in my dream it happened that the collider started splitting the atoms and then it started raining; pink rain for a week.”

“Well, I must say, this is an interesting theory. We will have pink rain, and the world comes to an end.”

“No, no end of the world, the pink rain contains seeds.”

“Tell me young lady, what was the name of the book you read. I would like to borrow it. Sounds really good.”

“I am not joking. The seeds land on the earth and start to germinate. That is where the problem begins.”

“Oh, I see, they grow into pink beanstalks and reach to the sky. If you climb one you meet a giant sitting on a pot of gold.”

“Mr. Schmitt, I don’t think you are taking me seriously. Everyone knows that is the story of Jack and the Beanstalk. No, they grow and when fully grown they begin to walk and…”

“Yes, yes, yes, a very good story, but quite a bit of fantasy. Just a moment Miss I have work to do. “What did you say Fritz, oh yes I am coming, you are ready for the switch on.” Please excuse me Miss, but I have other important work to do and the progress of science cannot be stopped by a dream that someone had concerning pink men.”

Well I did what I could, but no-one believed me. I decided to go into action, climbed into my car and drove to Geneva. It was a lovely day for a drive, not a cloud in the sky, one of those days it made you happy to be alive. Eventually I reached the centre of nuclear operations, but I could see this was not going to be easy; a barrier was stopping my entry with the car. I then parked the car behind a near bye building and walked the rest. I noticed some men walking into the building so I just joined them, pretending to belong to the group. Luckily I had dressed in a white overall before I left home as I was sure it would help. Everyone at this place was walking around in a white overall, so it just suited the scene. Once inside the building I had to find the right office. I decided to go downwards as I had heard that this monster machine was somewhere deep in the bowels of the earth.

I again saw a group of very intelligent looking elderly men and followed them. We descended in the lift, so far down I had a funny feeling I might meet someone with horns shovelling coal. However, this was not the case, and I soon found myself standing next to a large steel tube. At the side of the tube was a nicely covered table with a crisp white tablecloth and there was plenty of goodies to eat, scallops, shrimps, beef tartar, naturally with enough champagne to keep everyone happy. I decided to join in, the food was good and no-one seemed to notice that I did not belong. Then the speech begun. I decided it was time to stop eating, although I was enjoying it, to see if this was what I had to stop. It was. The man giving the speech was Mr. Schmitt, it seems, and so I called out in a loud clear voice “Stop”. He dropped his glass of champagne through the shock of my voice and asked what the **** was going on.

“I called you Mr. Schmitt, about the collider. I warned that it was dangerous.”

“How did you get here, and are you the woman with the pink rain?”

“Yes Mr. Schmitt, this experiment must stop. It is a danger to civilisation.”

“Sorry Miss, but we have already switched on. You see there is no danger. We are all at home down here.”

It was then that I felt quite faint. Well I did faint. You would as well if you suddenly saw that the so-called scientists were changing into pink men with four arms drinking champagne and toasting on the future. It was just too much for me. I came to my senses lying on my back in one of the green fields surrounding the nuclear centre. And pink rain was falling from the sky.

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MULTIPLY Wordsmiths Challenge #17: The Resting Place of the Past

On a night when London fog was surrounding the Thames, Johnny Watkins returned to his ship, destined to sail on the next morning. We are in the nineteenth century at the time when cargo ships still sailed into the London docks for discharge of their cargo. Johnny was still a boy, had run away from a stepfather who knew only the rule of the cane. There is a certain innocence that a young lad of sixteen years has. He believes that doing what the others did was the makings of a man. For this reason he had spent the evening in the tavern drinking with the other seamen. It was perhaps his need for belonging somewhere that gave him the encouragement to drink as much as the others. The others were hardened sailors, used to the roughness of a life on a ship, but alas Johnny was still a novice in such things. His steps were not so sure along the quayside on the slippery ground when he left the tavern, and sight was at a minimum. Fate took its reward and Johnny slipped into the murky waters of the River Thames. Perhaps it was due to the alcohol consume, perhaps his swimming talents were not so good, or it may just have been the foolishness of youth, but Johnny never again saw the light of the morning breaking over the murky waters.

He was fished out of the Thames by the police; a sorry end to a young hopeful life. There was no identification on the body, no-one seemed to miss Johnny; his life and death just an episode in London history. His remains were laid to rest in a small cemetery in East London; no grave with flowers and no angel’s statue guarding his bones. The grave diggers just made a hole in the ground, his body unceremoniously thrown in and covered with earth. Thanks to the merciful sisters, a stone was placed on top of his burial place, just a few words “Unknown male death by drowning in the River Thames 1862” and that was the unceremonious end of Johnny Watkins.

*******
Pat never really forgot her childhood in the East End of London. Although now living in another country, married with her own family, she often reflected on the past. There were memories and even dreams, but one memory was always there; a visit to the family grave in one of the older cemeteries in London; a cemetery existing for more than one hundred years.

Some of the older stones were weathered by the elements, and the words hardly readable. The older graves still had wax flowers covered by a more or less transparent glass dome for protection, which made them seem as if the inhabitants were still in the thoughts of their relations, although there were no longer any relations who could remember. It seemed to be a cemetery of the forgotten. Pat entered the cemetery, her mother walking ahead. Memories of the past came flooding back, it was her mother’s side of the family that were lying here in their last resting place. There was a large white stone, with names and dates of people Pat had never known, but it was family. The most recent and last to be buried was the grandfather and now it was finished. The grave was full, no room for more, seven were enough. To arrive at the family grave was not easy. There was no path, unless a path could be called stepping over graves and squeezing behind stones.

One evening Pat awoke in a cold sweat, she had revisited the graveyard in a dream. She wanted to reach the family grave, but had to stop and could not walk any further. It was as if an invisible barrier was stopping her. She looked down and saw it again: it was there. A flat brown stone, showing letters which had once been deeply engraved and were now hardly legible. She knew what the letters were saying, this was not a dream this was real; a reminder from the past of an unknown person, death by drowning. This time it was different; in the dream she saw the letters much clearer and there stood a name on the stone. “John Watkins” followed by the words “death by drowning in the River Thames 1862” and this was what awoke her. The grave stone was in her memory as showing “unknown” and now it had a name. It was many years ago, but she had never forgot this stone that she often walked over to reach the family grave.

“Mum, have you seen that stone” she would ask on the visits she made with her mother.

“Oh yes, just walk over it, it is in a strange place. It has always been there. Probably just some unidentified person they fished out of the Thames” and that was the explanation Pat got from her mother.

Pat never forgot this dream, at last the grave in the path had a name, she thought. Later that year she paid a visit to London and revisited many places where she had grown up. It was then that she made a decision; she must go to the graveyard again.

She arrived at the gates, but everything seemed much smaller than it was when she was a child. She thought probably the dimensions of time, then I was smaller and everything seemed bigger. She remembered there was a quaint old chapel covered with trailing ivy at the entrance, where the services were held before the burials. The chapel was no longer there. At the entrance there was a line of old gravestones with statues of angels gracing them. The statues were no longer as clean and white as Pat remembered them. They had a green cover of the mould which had grown over the years. She tried to remember where the family grave was, and searched for the path that was the way to the grave, but it was an impossible task. Many of the graves were no longer there, a housing estate had taken over part of the cemetery.

It was then that she noticed part of the cemetery looked comparatively new, although the gravestones were not covered with letters as she knew them, but in Arabic writing. There were visitors dressed accordingly in their dark cloaks and hats belonging to the ethnic minorities of this part of the town. It seemed that the dream and the memories had probably confused things over the years and she decided it was better to leave, when she saw a small office at the entrance to the cemetery.

“Hello, is anyone there” she called

“Yes madam, can I help you?”

“Perhaps you could explain what happened to this cemetery. I remember it as being completely different. We have a family grave here which I could no longer find. There was a chapel at the entrance and there were so many graves that you had to walk over some to arrive at your own grave.”

“Well that was many years ago. The graveyard was sold and part of it was demolished. Houses have now been built on that part. The remaining part of the cemetery was converted into a Muslim cemetery.”

“Yes, but there were graves where the Muslim graves now are. What happened to them?”

“Well to be quite honest, they are still there, but somewhere below. Most of the graves were no longer visited, so new graves were just built on top.”

“Where is my family grave? The land was bought and I have a photo of the grave.”

“I can give you a telephone number to call, and if you can give them the plot number, they will find out the details for you.”

“I have one last question. Where is the chapel?”

“Oh, yes, now that was unfortunate. Some kids were playing in the cemetery one evening and they lit a fire. It spread and before it could be stopped it engulfed the complete chapel in flames. It was no longer being used in any case, and the part that was still standing had to be removed for safety reasons.”

Pat thanked the porter, who had been very helpful and prepared to leave. She took one last glance back at the cemetery. She was sad that the past could be so destroyed without any respect to those concerned. It was then she saw a shadow move behind one of the gravestones with the angel on top. A shudder went down her spine, she did not know why, but a figure stepped forward from behind the stone; a young man, dressed in clothes that looked as if they originated in a history book. He looked at Pat and laughed. Pat did not know why, but two words left her lips

“Johnny Watkins?”

The figure nodded and said “Thank you for remembering” and disappeared.

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